


Love's Oldest Enemy

by icandrawamoth



Series: Love's Oldest Enemy 'verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole, Star Wars Legends: X-wing Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alderaan, Angst, Character Death, Crying, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Literally to destroy my own feelings???, M/M, Memorials, Men Crying, Sad, Tissue Warning, Wakes & Funerals, Why Did I Write This?, probably set earlyish in the X-wing series?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Wes looks at Wedge for half a moment before pulling him into a rough, tight embrace. “I'm so sorry,” he says.Wedge leans into him, accepting as much of the comfort as he can and trying to offer some in return. “We all lost him, not just me.”Wes shakes his head. “No one else loved him like you did, Wedge.”





	Love's Oldest Enemy

The pall is smooth and white under Wedge's hand, unblemished but for the symbol – blue and red, twelve X-wings in a circle, one of them ceremonially cut away. The missing ship is just to the right of the one on top, for his executive officer, his right hand man. And so much more than that.

Wedge's fingers clench, creating wrinkles in the pristine cloth. It isn't right. This isn't right. The mission was supposed to be simple – _was_ , really, when it came down to it. He's been on dozens of easy recon flights that saw his squadron ambushed but rallying with no trouble. Except this time, a single TIE had managed a lucky shot as they appeared, right into Tycho's engines. He hadn't even had time to cry out before he was gone. Their only casualty.

“Wedge.”

He doesn't turn to the voice right away, instead taking a long moment to gather himself. He uncurls his hand, carefully smooths the white cloth as he hears footsteps draw near. Finally, he looks up at the man standing next to him. Wes Janson appears every bit the man who just got off a red-eye transport: mussed and tired, pale face creased, brown eyes hooded.

“Thank you for coming,” Wedge manages, mostly evenly he thinks.

Wes looks at him for half a moment before pulling him into a rough, tight embrace. “I'm so sorry,” he says.

Wedge leans into him, accepting as much of the comfort as he can and trying to offer some in return. “We all lost him, not just me.”

Wes shakes his head. “No one else loved him like you did, Wedge.”

The simple words break him right open again. Wedge loses his breath, a sob torn from him without warning as he feels his chest crumpling. He staggers under the renewed weight of it, and Wes holds him up, arms warm and solid around him. Wedge thinks he may be crying, too, but he can't be sure.

Long, long moments pass before he steps back and turns away, away from his friend, away from the casket, and tries to drag the jagged pieces of himself back together. He can't fall apart. There's too much to do. There are so many things to do, and people who need him.

“Hobbie?” he asks, voice rough.

“Last I heard, his transport was running late.” Wes's voice isn't entirely steady either, and Wedge wishes he were better at comfort, wishes to whatever powers the galaxy holds that he didn't hurt so much himself. “He should be here within an hour or two.”

Wedge nods, takes a shaky breath, steadies himself as much as he can. His voice is more sure when he asks, “Will you look at what I wrote for the service?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Wedge has never liked giving speeches. Meetings and briefings, explaining missions and answering questions, sure, but never speeches. Not that the memorial service is exactly a speech. He's done it many times before, and attended many more before that...but it's never been Tycho.

But he's distracting himself with semantics.

Wedge stands in the base's assembly room, back to the quiet movements he can hear as his pilots and the others who have come for the memorial take their seats. The casket is behind him too, soberly dominating the center of the room, out of view, but Wedge can feel its presence dragging at him like a black hole.

He just manages not to start as a hand touches his arm and Wes murmurs, “I think we're ready to start, boss.”

Wedge nods, and seeing he's not going to get a further response, Wes steps away. Wedge takes a deep, steadying breath, trying to focus all his calm, and turns.

His eyes catch on the casket first before he raises them to the two dozen or so faces gazing back at him. The other ten pilots of Rogue Squadron. Wes and Hobbie sitting close side by side. Leia not too far from them. No one had been able to contact Luke, and Wedge tries not to hold it against him. He knows his friend is busy with important things, has no way of knowing what's happened. Some of the faces are sad, some angry, some sympathetic, some merely blank. Wedge feels all those things and more but forces himself to tamp them down. He can get through this. He can do it for them.

“Tycho Celchu was one of the best of us,” Wedge begins, his voice remarkably even. “He came up through the tutelage of the Empire, as many of us did, though with a desire to do good by changing it from the inside. When he learned that his home planet of Alderaan had been destroyed, that dream was lost, and he broke ranks to join the Alliance. He gave everything he had to the cause of freedom and justice without hesitation. He gave everything that was asked of him and more. Tycho was a fearless fighter and a good man, one of the best I've ever known. I don't need to list his merits for you or the battles he fought in. You all lived and fought beside him.”

He takes a moment to breathe, braces himself for his next words. “Tycho was a Rogue to the core, and in his death he leaves us with an essential lesson. He was like every Rogue: fierce and strong but not invincible. I say this not to scare you, but to remind us all to stay vigilant. Even constantly on our guard, losses like this can happen. Even the best of us must always alert for ourselves and our squadronmates at all times to minimize that chance. I don't want anyone blaming themselves for what happened, merely for you to keep this fact always in mind.”

It should be ironic how since the moment it happened Wedge hasn't stopped asking whether he could have done something himself, but there is no more room in his mind for irony. He bites his lip to keep it from quivering before continuing. “Tycho used to say 'It's not the length of life but what you do with it that counts.' He did so many great things during his short time in this galaxy. He touched my life, and yours, and those of countless others. While we allow ourselves to grieve, let us also remember the good times we shared.” His eyes are misty now as he lays one hand on the casket. “Let us take this latest loss and let it push us on in our fight, that we work even more diligently stop our enemy from taking any more unnecessary lives.” His voice trembles off on the last line, control finally slipping, as he bows his head to indicate that he's finished.

The room is silent as Wedge fights for control, and he knows they're all watching him. Though he and Tycho hadn't exactly advertised their relationship, he doesn't doubt that at least some of them know. He doesn't know whether he even wants that sort of attempted comfort from anyone other than Wes or Hobbie or Leia.

Then, blessing that he is, Wes is stepping forward again, raising his voice to say, “If you want to come forward and pay your respects, please do.” Then he gently slides an arm around Wedge and leads him aside. “I got you, boss,” he murmurs.

Wedge can't respond. Tears are running down his face now, helpless to be stopped as it all closes in on him. With every beat of his heart: _Tycho is gone. Tycho is gone._ He could scream with it. He presses a hand to his mouth, the other arm wrapped tight around himself as if he can stop the pain like a sucking void in his chest.

Then he's being pulled into another pair of strong arms, and he recognizes Hobbie as his friend cries too, burying his face in Wedge's shoulder, and Wedge mirrors him as they grieve together. A moment later, Wes is there too, a hand on both of them, and then Leia's voice is whispering condolences through her own tears.

Across the room, the pilots look on, their own grief doubled to see their commander and his lieutenants hurting so much. As Wedge had thought, some of them know what he and Tycho were. Others had guessed and now see it confirmed in the worst way. None will interrupt to offer consolation to their stricken leader in that moment.

* * *

Later, when the others have drifted off to eat dinner or grieve in their own ways, Wedge, Wes, Hobbie, and Leia are back in Wedge's room. Wes and Hobbie sit on the bed while Wedge perches on the desk chair, Leia standing near the door with her arms crossed as she watches him. Wedge is tired, more completely drained by grief and responsibility than he's felt in a long time. And the day still isn't over. There are still things to take of before he can rest.

“You're taking his remains back to the Graveyard?” Leia asks gently.

Wedge nods, heart twisting because how can all that's left of the man he loves be _remains_?

Leia's face is full of sympathy. She kneels in front of him and rests a soft hand on his knee. “Hey. I know this is hard, dear heart. Can you try and stay with me for just another minute?”

Wedge blinks, sniffles, nods slightly, and forces himself to meet her eyes. He takes in the tiny, sad smile she gives him and tries to listen to what she says next.

“It's your choice, Wedge, but I don't think you should go alone. It will only be a few days before the Council will be clamoring to have me back, but I'm more than willing to take you, if you'll have me.”

“Us, too,” Hobbie adds. “We're all here for you, Wedge.”

“We're all his friends; it's only right we send him off,” Wes adds.

Wedge thinks, as much as he can through the haze in his brain. “I'm sorry,” he decides, glancing up at the men on the bed. “I think I'd rather go alone...though not flying myself in this condition is probably a good idea.” His gaze drifts back as he bows his head in acquiescence.

“We understand,” Wes says after a moment, and when Wedge looks up again, his gaze snags on the way he's squeezing Hobbie's hand. “He would want it to be you.”

Wedge's lip trembles, but he's distracted when Leia squeezes his knee and stands again. “When...will he be ready?” she asks delicately.

Wedge shudders anyway, trying not to picture the flames that are probably even now turning what little remaining of Tycho was retrieved from the crash site into even less. He voice is wooden when he answers, “They said I would have him by morning.”

“Okay.” Leia's hand lands on his shoulder. “Tomorrow, then?”

Wedge hangs his head, hating the thought of it. Tycho out in the cold and dark of his dead planet forever... But it's what he wanted, and Wedge would never, ever deny it of him. And putting it off isn't going to change anything. “Yes.”

“I'll go and make arrangements, then.”

Before she can leave, Wedge catches her hand and when she looks down again murmurs, “Thank you, Leia.”

“Of course, my friend.” She bends to kiss his forehead, murmurs, “Don't hesitate to comm me if you need _anything_ ,” and is gone.

It's quiet for awhile after she leaves, the three men lost in their own thoughts and memories.

“I know it's stupid,” Hobbie says finally, his voice sounding unusually loud in the silence. “But I never thought... I mean, after Hoth and Endor and Bakura and Coruscant and Lusankya and everything else...he seemed like one of the lucky ones.”

“Luck runs out,” Wedge says bitterly. “You can't rely on it.”

Wes frowns, his arm tightening around the man beside him. “We know that, Wedge.”

“I'm sorry.” Wedge rubs hands over his face, not even sure what his emotions are doing any more. He has nothing to be angry at them about. Perhaps it's only his own guilt, the number of times the “lucky one” moniker has been used to describe him. Here he sits after all these years, still in one piece and watching people he loves die around him.

“Don't be.” Wes pulls himself to his feet, tugging Hobbie after him and crosses the room. “You should get some sleep, boss,” he says quietly. “You'll need it.”

“I know.” Wedge sighs. He's exhausted, but the thought of going to bed alone isn't an appealing one.

Wes bends to wrap him in a hug. “We'll leave you to it then.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Hobbie adds as he follows suit.

* * *

Wedge doesn't sleep well, but he didn't expect to. The only moment of relief he gets is when his chrono wakes him in the morning and he has two infinite seconds of wondering why the bed is so cold and empty before reality slams him back to the mattress.

He lets himself cry then, great heaving, gasping sobs into his pillow. No one is around to see. No one can hear. In this moment, he can break, simply be a man who's lost the one he loved more than any other in the galaxy.

Tycho's side of the bed still smells like him, and Wedge presses himself into it, closing his eyes and trying to imagine, to lie to himself if only for a second that he's not gone. He's off to the refresher or getting them breakfast, and he'll be back any minute... But the fantasy falls apart immediately.

He tries again, desperately tells himself Tycho is better off now. No more war, no more suffering or pain. Wedge pictures him in whatever sort of afterlife may exist, back among the green fields and sweeping architecture of Alderaan, reunited with his family and childhood friends. Maybe Dreis and Zev and the others are there to greet him, too, to welcome him to their ranks with pride.

But Wedge's chest still aches with grief, because he doesn't know if it's real, or if Tycho is well and truly gone, just as he is from Wedge's life. Luke would say Tycho has joined the living Force, but that's little comfort when Wedge can no longer hold him.

A chime from the door startles him, and he hurriedly sits up, wiping his eyes and trying to make himself anywhere near presentable. “Who is it?”

“It's Leia.”

“Come in, Leia.”

The door slides open, and she steps inside – stopping with a concerned frown when she spots him. A knee-jerk _I'm fine_ jumps to Wedge's tongue, but he pushes it back down. There's no point in telling such a blatant lie.

And then he sees what Leia has in her hands and everything stops as his concentration narrows to that spot, the capsule she's holding, cylindrical and metallic blue, barely bigger than her palm.

His breath goes out of him. “Is that-?”

She nods somberly and holds it out. Wedge feels numb as he takes it. The ashes are heavier than he expected. So this is it. What's left of Tycho is what he holds in his hands.

“If you need a minute-”

“I'm fine.”

She doesn't argue. “I'm ready to leave when you are. We can get breakfast first.”

“I'm not hungry.”

She frowns but doesn't comment on that either. “I'll wait in the hanger. Take your time.”

* * *

He spends most of the trip to the Graveyard alone in his quarters, staring at the capsule and remembering, emerging only occasionally to use the refresher or take a bite of food and a drink of water when Leia gently insists.

"You'll get through this, Wedge," she tells him once.

He's glad she doesn't elaborate, doesn't insist on reminding him how strong he is, how he's lived through so many losses before. That's exactly what he's afraid of: that one day he'll have gotten over this, that Tycho will become like his parents or Biggs or Porkins, yet another long-lost loved one reduced to distant memories and a dull ache in his gut, just another name for Rogue Squadron's hall of the fallen.

He knows they must be getting close, but he can't bring himself to go and ask. Then there's a soft knock at the door and it opens, Leia jolting to a stop when she sees the tears on his face, the hologram he's staring at.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers. “I-”

Wedge straightens, dashing his sleeve across his eyes. “It's fine. I was just...” He gestures her forward, and she gingerly sits beside him, looking down at the hologram. It's Tycho, smiling and laughing, blue eyes made bluer by the projector twinkling as he dramatically runs a hand through his blonde hair, feathering it into a ridiculous disarray. Wedge laughs wetly. “This is back on _Home One_ , right after Hoth. He and Wes were arguing over who was more handsome. Trying to cheer up the rest of the squadron.”

Leia lays a hand on his arm. “He was a good man, Wedge.”

Wedge nods, presses a button on the holoprojector with a shaking finger. The display switches, another Tycho, this time a frozen image but still smiling brightly. Wedge blinks away tears, pushes the button again. “Rogue Squadron has a sort of traveling memorial,” he explains shakily, flicking the display again and again. “All these somber holos of everyone we've lost. I need to find one that will work, but he looks so happy in all of these...” The display changes again, again, blonde hair, blue eyes, always smiling. Wedge drops the projector and covers his face.

Leia manages to catch the device, setting it safely aside. “I think that can wait until later,” she tells him gently. “We're nearly there.”

Wedge is crying again, that empty feeling in his chest engulfing him, and he barely registers as Leia strokes his hair and murmurs comforting words. After a few minutes, the tears slow, and he tries to reign his breathing back in. “I don't know if I can do this,” he manages at last.

“You can,” Leia promises. “It hurts, I know, but you can. All you have to do is leave the capsule. If you don't want to say anything, that's all right.”

Wedge shakes his head, picking up the blue canister with trembling fingers. “I don't know if I can leave him,” he admits.

“It's what he wanted,” Leia tells him, and he hears in her tone that she's aware he already knows it, more than aware that he'd give his own life to honor that last wish.

“I know.” His fingers tighten around the precious container for long moment, then slacken. “All right.”

“All right. I'll go bring us in, then stay in the cockpit. Take as much time as you need, Wedge. Just signal me when you're ready to go.”

“Thank you, Leia.” She squeezes his arm and leaves.

Wedge sits there for a long time, eyes fixed on the capsule, even after he feels the tug of the ship exiting hyperspace. Finally, he takes a deep breath, wills himself to stay together, and stands.

* * *

Wedge stands in the airlock gazing out into space at the boulders and clumps of debris that used to be a planet. Out there, though he can't see them, among the offers made by those making their Return, are other Alderaanians who have come back to their home in death. Tycho won't be alone.

Wedge's fingers move across the cool surface of the metallic container. It's not really him. Tycho ceased to exist the moment his ship blew apart, the moment the screech of his dying comm system pierced Wedge's heart with the awful truth. This is just...a shell. Less than that, now. And yet it's still so hard to let go.

“Tycho,” he finds himself saying, not to the capsule, but out to the openness of space. “I don't know if you can hear me...” He squeezes his eyes closed, opens them again. “I miss you,” he chokes out. “More than I can possibly say. I don't know what I'm going to do without you. But I'll manage, somehow.” He gives a jerky, determined nod. “Because that's what you'd want. And that's what I'd want, if it was me. I'm not going to stop until every single Imperial is dead if I have to.” Wedge shakes his head. Maybe that's not the sort of thing he should be swearing here in the gravesite of a planet of pacifists. And that thought startles a tiny but genuine chuckle out of him, because Tycho would have been so annoyed to hear him generalize the entire population of Alderaan like that.

“I love you, Tycho,” he says, and it's the truest thing he can say. “That's not going to stop because you're gone. I'm so grateful for the time we did have, and I'll carry those memories with me until I join you.” He lets out a shaky breath, kneeling to place the capsule on the ground. “May the Force be with you always,” he murmurs as he removes his hand and steps away. With a clunk, the airlock closes, and Wedge doesn't hesitate as he pulls the depressurization lever, then opens the outer hatch.

There are tears in his eyes as he watches the glint of blue float out into the Graveyard and whispers, “You're home, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> “You can trust a human being with grief. Walk fearlessly into the house of mourning, for grief is just love squaring up to its oldest enemy. And after all these mortal human years, love is up to the challenge.”  
> ~Kate Braestrup, [“The House of Mourning” on The Moth podcast](https://themoth.org/stories/the-house-of-mourning)  
> 


End file.
